


Subtext

by Velvet-Muffin (MischaBea)



Series: Subtext Universe [1]
Category: Actor RPF, British Actor RPF, Marvel Cinematic Universe RPF, Real Person Fiction, Tom Hiddleston-Fandom
Genre: Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2015-08-24
Packaged: 2018-01-20 16:29:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1517402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MischaBea/pseuds/Velvet-Muffin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elena's mundane life is about to be turned upside down by a man who can teach her to let go and live.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

"Make sure you set up the display for After Midnight," Bill called from behind the counter as he cleaned the espresso machine. “It needs to be right up front, visible from the window.”

“Really? Do we have to display it so prominently? I don’t understand why we even have to promote this schlock.” I carried a larger than life cardboard cutout to the front of the store. It featured the lead actor and actress from the movie version of the Midnight series staring deeply, sappily into each other’s eyes. 

Bill chuckled. “You know why, Elena. ‘Shlock’ like this is what pays the rent. Because we sell enough of those, you get to keep your poetry and speculative fiction sections.”

“I know,” I groaned, “but, ugh! It’s so bad!” I started to stack the newly unboxed books on the table next to the standup. “Seriously, how a trilogy of books AND movies were greenlit off this premise are beyond me. Haven’t we had enough tween paranormal romance to last a lifetime?”

Melanie emerged from the back room with another box for the table. “Before Midnight wasn’t that bad. Granted, At Midnight was less than good but the reviews on this one are pretty favorable.”

I couldn't hold back a snort. “That’s because only the reviewers who were guaranteed to give good reviews got advance copies of the book!”

“Finish up there and go read some Frost to cool off, Ellie. You get a little too worked up by Pop Lit.” Bill was right. I was easily annoyed by the way the gullible masses ate up terrible writing. I knew it shouldn't bother me (to each his own, hey at least they’re reading!) but it really drove me nuts. I went to the back room and pulled out a well thumbed copy of, not Robert Frost, but Keats, Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes and Other Poems. I turned to Ode to Psyche, losing myself in it’s pure beauty, I no longer worried about the terrible taste of the masses.

 

By the afternoon, most of the release day presales had been picked up and now only a small trickle of people were in and out. Melanie manned the registers and Bill kept busy behind the counter making coffees for the patrons who chose to hang around and sip while they read. I was charged with mingling with the customers, helping them find their desired merchandise. Warrick’s was an old fashioned bookshop. We didn't carry movies or music, just books, more books, and a few magazines and periodicals. Even the coffee counter was a newer addition. The shelves were heavy, tall, and filled, just like they should be. I was more at home in this place than my own house, the cocoon of literature comforting me like nothing else.

I turned to the tinkle of the little bell over the door as it opened, noticing that the man who entered was tall, ludicrously so. And not unhandsome. And vaguely familiar? I let him look around for a few minutes, as he seemed to be just browsing, before approaching to offer my services. The closer I got, the more beautiful I could see that he was, with high cheekbones, bright blue-gray eyes, and an unnaturally perfect amount of stubble dispersed over his chin. Now, I’m not shy. It takes a lot to put me off my game, but this man was close to being able to do that without a word. Then he turned to me and offered a, “Lovely day to browse for a read,” in the most impeccable British accent and I nearly had to take a step back. Who am I kidding. It took everything I had not to skitter a crab walked NOPE NOPE NOPE back to the break room, it was so lovely. But then I noticed the iPad case, fashioned to look like an old book. Pretentious. Douchey. That, I could deal with.

So I was able to hold my ground, even managed a little smile. “Welcome to Warrick’s. I’m Elena. Is there anything I can help you find?”

“Elena, it’s a pleasure.” He held out a long-fingered hand. I took it. “I’m Tom.” Tom such an ordinary name made extraordinary by his lips. Not Tahm like you’ll hear the guys around here say it. A well rounded Tom, as if he were savoring that O like a fine brandy, rolling it around in his mouth and tasting it on his lips. Oh wait. He was still talking. Focus on the pompous iPad case. What was he saying? “-just out and about exploring the neighborhood. I can never resist a booksellers.” I realized I still had my fingers wrapped around his hand and quickly let go.

“You’re not from around here.” Jeez Ellie! Get a grip! Of course he’s not!

He laughed, a heady mirthful laugh. “I’m not. I’m in town for a couple of months.” He looked around at the rows of shelves, the coffee counter in back, the comfy chairs in strategic locations. “I could definitely see myself spending my free time in a place like this. I have a soft spot for literature and you have quite a variety to choose from.”

“We do.” I made an attempt at banter. “We have anything a dapper gentleman might need.”

‘Oh, now,” he smirked, “I never said I was a gentleman.”

I couldn't hold in my guffaw. “Ho, there! I suppose that is true, you did not. I apologize for my assumptions.” I bowed from the waist, barely catching my glasses as they slipped down my nose. Ugh, I was flirting. Badly. Flirting is not my forte. But he seemed to take my awkwardness in stride. 

“Do you have any recommendations? The associates I am in town with are less sociable than I’m used to, so I’ll need to fill these weeks with something. A good book is a start.”

“Are you looking for classic or modern, prose or poetry?” 

“I’m open. What are you currently reading?”

“Me?” I ask with surprise. “Well, to be honest, before we opened I was reading some Keats.”

His eyebrows popped. “John Keats, really? I have a special affinity for the classics. But I suppose I was thinking something newer. What is your favorite book released in the last year.”

“Great question.” I bit my finger in thought. “If I had to pick one, definitely Fete of Fancy. It’s the debut novel from-”

“Sold.”

“Don’t you want a synopsis?” I asked, surprise evident.

“I do not. I trust your judgment. I have faith in a person who reads Keats before noon. I’d also like a coffee.” He followed me as I walked towards Bill behind the bar. “It’s a really lovely day and I noticed you have tables outside. Could I convince you to sit with me a while? Perhaps continue our conversation of favored writings.”

“Me?” I asked again. I was going to need to expand my vocabulary. What was this guy’s deal? I was working. And he was way out of my league. Yet he didn't seem to be flirting, just genuinely enjoying himself. “Yeah, OK. I haven’t had my break yet.” I nodded to the man behind the counter. “Tom, this is Bill Warrick, he owns this place. He’s the 3rd generation of Warrick’s Booksellers. He also makes a mean coffee. Our Rosemary Brown Sugar latte is the house specialty.”

“That sound’s fantastic,” Tom said as he held out a hand to shake Bill’s. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir. This is a fine shop. Do you mind if I borrow Elena during her break? I’m enjoying our discussion of literature.”

Bill returned the handshake vigorously. “I do not mind at all. She can spend her thirty minutes however she likes. Ellie, you want a Rosey too?”

“Absolutely!” Soon our lattes were ready and we carried them out towards the door. I called out, “Mel, I’m taking my break!” She waved at me without looking up from her book. Ugh, she was reading After Midnight. Et tu Melanie? I’d razz her for it later. For now, I was heading out to a cafe table to talk lit with a too attractive to be real guy. And he seemed awfully sweet too. And intelligent. What was wrong with him? I was going to make it my mission to find out.


	2. Chapter 2

We settled down with our lattes and I stared at Tom from across the cafe table. My eyes narrowed. “What’s your deal?”

“My deal?” he echoed. 

I tried phrase the question more specifically. “I guess, what I mean is...Ugh.” My hands started flailing of their own accord. “What kind of person just walks in and starts chatting away like everyone in the room is their best friend? Wants to sit and have coffee with a woman he met ten minutes ago? Seriously, what’s your deal?”

He released the most open and genuine laugh I thought I’d ever heard. “I’m just good with people, maybe friendlier than average. I have to be for my job.”

“Yeah, this job that’s brought you here for a couple of months. What exactly is it that you do?”

“I’m an actor.” He grinned wide.

“An actor,” I echoed. “Are you in the stage production opening this weekend? Red Flag?”

“No. I’m here filming a movie.”

I stared at him. “They chose to film movies in this piece of shit town?” I couldn't think of one thing that about this place that would cause anyone to want to shoot here.

He displayed a bemused grin. “It’s perfect actually.”

“If you say so.” I shook my head. “Do you do okay as an actor? It can be rough I know.” I sipped my coffee.

“I manage, yes.” The grin had intensified. “This is refreshing, that you don’t know me.” 

“Ok,” I sniggered, “first of all, I just want to let you know that sounded fairly pompous.”

“No, no! I’m sorry!” He interrupted. His face had gone from the brightest of smiles to a tight furrowed brow in a millisecond. “I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t find that often enough these days. I really got the feeling that you only saw me as a random man on the street. That’s why I wanted a chat, a conversation with a lovely person about regular things, someone not in the industry. That’s all I was looking for. I’m terribly sorry if I’ve offended you.”

“No offense taken but now I feel kind of bad. I just am not really savvy about current affairs, I guess,” I was backpedalling because he really seemed genuinely upset. “I don’t watch television. I don’t really go to movies. It just doesn’t interest me. I mean, I do enjoy theater but it can be difficult to find good theater in this podunk town. So I’m sorry too. I’ll admit I did think you looked a little familiar when you first walked in. But then I just figured the perfection of your face was something my subconscious had invented and was projecting on you from some latent dream. Oh god. I just said that out loud, didn’t I?”

“You did, yes.”

“Just ignore me. Do you want me to go get Melanie? She’s better company. She would probably recognize you. She’s kind of a pop culture junkie. Also she knows how to talk to human beings.” I started to stand, planning to take my flustered gracelessness back into the shop, but a huge hand covered my own.

“No. I don’t want you to get your friend.” His smile had returned but it was gentler, almost understanding. “I want to continue our discussion about literature.”

I groan. “But now I feel like a shit. You’re someone I guess I should know and I don’t, so now if you want me to sit here and keep talking to you about mundane crap, you need to tell me about yourself first. Like, what’s your last name so I can Google you.”

“Hiddleston,” he replied, “but you don’t have to Google me. I’ll answer any questions you have.”

“Ok,” I eyed him sideways. “Only movies?”

“I’ve done television as well in the UK. Mostly movies here. But my greatest love is the stage.”

“Okay.” That answer surprised me. “Do you do a lot of theater?”

“Whenever I can. Less than I’d like anymore. And if ever I’m offered a part in a Shakespearean performance, I’ll move heaven and earth to make that happen.”

“Oh,” now I was intrigued. “Have you had the chance to perform much from the Bard himself?” Apparently, I wasn’t even trying not to sound pretentious anymore.

“I’ve been very blessed, yes.” He mused, “I’ve done a fair bit. Most recently I had the pleasure of playing Caius Martius in Coriolanus. Of course I yearn to do more.”

“Wait, Coriolanus?” I failed to keep the cringe from my face. “That’s a rough one! It’s so dry.”

“Have you seen it performed?”

“No,” I admitted.

“Well then, I wish you’d been able to see it. It was a real pleasure to perform and I think we did a damn fine job entertaining our sold out audience every night. Hrmph.” He folded his hands across his chest but his eyes never lost their sparkling joy.

“I’m sorry! God, I keep having to apologize to you! Are you sure you don’t want Mel?” I pointed my thumb at her through the window over my shoulder, laughing self-consciously.

Now he did laugh. “Not at all. What about you? Tell me about yourself.”

“No! I wasn’t finished! I still have questions!”

“Plenty of time for more of your questions later. Now it’s my turn.” He gazed imperiously at me. So commanding this one! I’d have been lying if I said it wasn’t kind of hot.

“Fine,” I sighed. “I’ve worked here since my undergrad days. But I love it so I guess I’m never leaving.”

“What did you study?”

“Originally, I got a BA in General English with a focus in Literary Studies. Now I’m in my masters program. I guess you could say I’m a habitual student. I just like learning. I always figured I’d teach some day. But today is not that day,” I chuckled.

“See, then, you are the perfect person to discuss literature with.” He laughed along with me.

At that point my phone buzzed with a text. 

**Melanie**  
 _Are you EVER coming back in?_

“Well, I guess I’m done here. Duty calls.” I reached for both of our empty mugs as I stood.

He grabbed both cups by the handles with his right hand and pulled them out of my reach. “I still have to pick up that book. I’ll follow you in.” 

I looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “You get that it’s my job to clear these tables, right?”

He’d already moved to the door and was holding it open for me. “I’m more than capable of helping.” Rolling my eyes, I walked through the door. There way no way this guy existed in real life. He walked up to Bill behind the counter and handed him the mugs, thanking him for the delicious libations.

“Finally!” Melanie jeered. “I still need my break too!” Shaking my head at her impatience, I grabbed the book he’d chosen earlier and walked it up to her behind the checkout. “Tom, I’ve set your book over here.”

“Excellent, thank you!” He stepped up to the counter and Melanie looked at him to complete the transaction. Her eyes widened in instantaneous recognition but she stayed uncharacteristically quiet. After the purchase had been made, Tom held out a hand to Melanie, which she reluctantly took. “It’s been a pleasure, Melanie,” Tom said. She just sort of nodded with her eyes wide and her lips slightly parted. He then turned back to me. “We will continue our discussion another time. I still want to ask your thoughts on some of the classics.”

“Oh, I have many thoughts on many things,” I grinned. I held my hand out for a shake.

“Stop,” he said, “we’re friends.” He pulled me into a warm, really nicely scented hug. 

“Alright, alright,” I waved him away. “That’s enough of that. It was good to meet you, Tom. I do hope you decide to visit us again.”

“I will, most definitely!” He waved at us as he reset the clanging little bell and moved out the door, package under his arm. 

Mel finally found her voice. “Do you know who that was?” she asked, incredulous.

“Yeah, he told me his name. Said he was an actor. I knew you’d know him. I told him so.” I grinned. 

“You talked to him for a long time. You had coffee. I can’t believe you sat there with him for, like, half an hour! I couldn’t even make myself talk to him for 30 seconds. I’m so jealous.” She looked shell-shocked.

I laughed and shrugged my shoulders. “He seemed like a pretty nice guy. Down to earth, normal, especially for someone who makes you speechless.” 

I turned back to the shelves to continue my afternoon’s toils. I planned to spend the evening Googling him anyway. I supposed it would be the nice thing to do, to take a look at some of his work. I mean, he seemed like the kind of guy you’d want to support. If he was any good, I would have been willing to watch some things. But he’d have to be really good.


	3. Chapter 3

I was still a little bit in shock 5 days later. 

After looking up Tom's resume, I realized he was good. More than good. Fantastic.

I'd even managed to get a hold of a pirated copy of his turn in Coriolanus (don't judge) and he was right. It was amazing. Definitely not dry or stiff or any of the other things I envision when I think of that play.

And I'd also realized why he'd seemed familiar. When I'd been with Brian, he'd dragged me to one of his beloved superhero movies and that face had belonged to the villain. What a weird disconnect. He doesn't even look like the villainous type. The guy really was an impressive actor.

I'd stayed up nights getting through his catalog, exhausting it, and moving on to interviews and appearances. And the dancing. Oh lord, the dancing.

Now I was hoping he didn't follow through on his plans to come back. I'd fallen into a deep hole and it was a little embarrassing. 

Plus I'd blabbed to Mel about how I'd spent my last few nights and I knew she'd do her best to embarrass me. She was still sore about her speechlessness that day. 

Just about the time I convinced myself I was in the clear, that he was just being polite and never intended to grace us again with his presence, I walked out of the stock room to the sound of that distinctive laughter.

"Ah! There she is!" Tom's voice called out as soon as I rounded the stacks near the register.

My attempt at a smile came closer to a grimace. I tried to cover with a palm out for a handshake. "Good to see you again," I fibbed.

He looked me over quizzically before asking, "New glasses?"

Melanie snorted a laugh. "No! She just has more pairs than should strictly be legal!"

I inclined my head with a sheepish smile. "She's not wrong." I wiggled the frames. "These are my favorites. The black cat eyes with the rhinestones. You get these with the retro floral dress," I gestured down my body. "50's librarian chic," I said with a shoulder wiggle.

"I love it but,” he squinted down at my feet, "the trainers don't seem to match the vibe."

"Well," I replied, "when it comes to footwear you only get Chucks or Docs from me. Sorry, it's a rule."

"She's not kidding, either," Mel interjected. "She's told us that she plans to get married in her favorite pair of DMs."

No sense in denying that one. It had been a running joke around the shop for at least five years. "To be fair, I also said I'd spray paint them silver so everyone would know they were my Dress Docs."

He just arched a brow. No comment. I didn't think he understood our humor.

"Anyway," I continued, steering the conversation back to neutral territory, "what can we do for you today? Finished the last book already?"

"Sadly, no.” He gave his lip a quick bite. “I, uh, had the night off and I couldn’t bear the thought of another takeaway dinner. I figured someone who knows the area could point me in the direction of a nice restaurant?”

He actually ended the statement as if it were a question. Damn him and his adorableness.

My reply was swift and decisive. Getting him out of here was the highest priority. This guy was a danger to my sanity. “Sure, I can give you a list. I hope you’re not looking for anything fancy. We don’t really do fancy here in Riverside.”

“Not fancy, just tasty.” He smiled. “However, I was hoping, if it’s not an inconvenience, for a dinner companion.”

He was looking at me as he said it, so I was pretty sure he didn’t mean Mel.

“I’m sorry. I’m working all night. Til close-”

“Nonsense!” Bill’s voice boomed as he came out from behind the bistro counter. “You weren’t even supposed to be here today.”

“But Jared-”

“Yes, Jared called off. But we haven’t been busy and, frankly, Ellie, you don’t take enough time off. And the time you do take off, you’re studying.”

“But-”

“Nope, no buts.” Bill was resolute. “Take the night off and show this guy around town.”

The two men shook on it and I started to seethe. My patriarchy button was being pushed pretty hard.

“Hey! I’ll leave if you don’t need me but you two can’t trade me like some kind of beads and furs. What if I don’t want to take this asshat to dinner?"

“You think I’m an asshat? What is an asshat?” Tom turned his perplexed gaze to each face.

"Uh oh." Abashed, now it was Bill's turn to grimace. "No. I'm pretty sure this is my fault. I've activated the Amazon. That's what I call it when I screw up and treat her like she's a porcelain doll rather than the strong, self-actualized woman that she is."

I gave Bill my best death glare, then turned to Tom. "I don’t think you’re an asshat. Damn it. I just didn’t agree to this.” I pointed at Bill and Melanie. “They are agreeing to this for me and I don’t appreciate it!”

“No, no. You’re right. Elena, would you please do me the honor of accompanying me to dinner?”

I folded my arms across my chest and considered for a moment. It would be kind of rude to refuse after such a cordial request. "Fine. I will.”

Mel stood behind the counter with the widest grin I'd ever seen her sport. She was relishing this. My discomfort, the idea that she was in some way complicit in getting me a "date", she obviously loved it all. 

And Bill, he looked like an old-timey father thrilled to get three goats and a chicken for his daughter.

"You guys suck," I muttered as I went to the break room to grab my things.

Upon returning, I’d decided there was no other choice at this point but to suck it up and try to have some fun despite my discomfort. He was the same friendly guy from the other day. The rest of it didn’t matter. I’d just keep that mantra going in my head. That would totally work, right?

“Alright, let’s go,” I said, linking my left arm with his right and dragging him toward the door.

He gave the others a little wave over his shoulder as we exited the shop.

“So,” he smiled down at me, “any thoughts?”

I smiled back warily before gesturing to the street before us. “This is Main Street. There are a few options around here. Alberto’s about a half a block down. It’s Italian. Two blocks farther than that is a newer gastro-pub sort of thing called Jettison. In the opposite direction, we have Roanoke Wine Bar. They do small plates, like tapas. It’s really pretty good.”

"The last one sounds just right. I could do with a nice glass of wine," Tom mused.

"Then that's where we go." 

We strolled unhurriedly down the street toward the restaurant.


	4. Chapter 4

We were seated fairly quickly in the little wine bar, being willing to take a bistro table in the bar area. Right away we ordered a wine flight each, consisting of three generous pours of similar wines. Tom went with the Bold Bordeaux flight while I took it slightly easier with my order of Big Bouncy Blondes.

Even though I was angry at her, I still texted a pic of my three glasses to Mel.

Tom eyed me over his menu, eyebrow raised. "So what is it?"

"What's what?" My confusion was complete.

"Uh, an asshat."

I slapped a hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter. I was shocked he even remembered the jibe from twenty minutes earlier. 

"I'm so sorry. It's not funny. It's just..." Tears brimmed in my eyes from holding in my laughter.

Tom's continued confusion manifested in his furrowed thinkers brow. "I'm trying to imagine it. Although, perhaps I don't want to."

"Oh no it's not that bad. It's just dumb. Like, think how stupid you would look if you were wearing an ass on your head. That's an asshat. It's just a silly name you call someone. It doesn't mean anything. It's a term of endearment, really. You should take it as a compliment."

He gave me a crooked little frown. "I'm not sure it felt like a compliment."

I crumpled in my seat. "I'm sorry! I feel bad I even said it! It's just, ugh! Bill! He's so infuriating sometimes! And Melanie! She's just as bad."

"I'm certain they were only thinking you needed a night out."

"Well, they should mind their own business." I hadn't realized I had already moved on to the second glass of wine in my flight. This was going down way too easy. "Ok. Subject change. How are you? How is filming?"

“It’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Are you? You seem a little, I don’t know, off?”

“It’s just this film. It’s brought up some things in me. Childhood traumas and the like. That’s too strong a word. Trauma. Just not good memories.”

“I’m sorry. Is it a heavy story you’re telling?”

He chuckled. “Not at all. It’s a comedy, in fact. It’s the set’s milieu that’s the issue. I’m so used to working on projects where everyone is so friendly. This is more difficult. Not so welcoming, exclusive. So I’m trying to entertain myself in my downtime rather than hanging around when I’m not needed.”

“And that reminds you of your childhood?”

He grimaced and shook his head back and forth. “I’m making it all sound so much worse than it was. I think everyone has those uncomfortable moments, don’t they? But the memories hang on and pop up at the most inopportune points in time."

"Don't I know it?" I was not telling this guy about my childhood. I was keeping my mouth firmly clamped.

We’d ordered dinner and as it showed up in it’s courses, we made more small talk. Eventually discussion turned to the always fun topic of 'What the hell do you do in this town?' 

"I mean, there's things to do during the day. We have a go kart track and a zoo. Well, they call it a zoo. To me a camel and an ostrich do not a zoo make but, whatever. We do pretty well on tourism in the summer months because of the lake about ten miles farther down the highway. And you've wandered down Main. Lots of fun eclectic shops, the theater, that sort of thing. And basically all the nightlife that isn't field keggers is here on Main as well."

"Field keggers?"

"Oh, yeah, this is a college town surrounded by corn, so people will buy a keg of beer and take it out into a field, have a bonfire, and get rip roaring drunk. I'm not too proud to say I've been to a few, or more than a few. It can be fun depending on the make up of the group. But I'm a grown person now so it's been a while."

“I see.” He did not appear to see. “And the nightlife that is not in a field?”

“Well, this place does pretty well. They’ll probably set up a dude with a guitar in that corner,” I pointed to the back of the bar, “around nine. And there’s a dueling piano bar about two blocks before Warricks, the opposite direction of the way we walked. We also have a dance club, Centrifuge. It’s about 3 blocks farther down.”

His eyes lit up. “A dance club! That’s something right up my alley.”

“Ha! I know! I’ve seen! You shouldn’t let people film you dancing.”

“You take issue with my dancing?”

On to the third glass, the Roussanne, I took a big gulp. “Oh no, not at all! You’ve got good instincts for someone without proper training.” 

“How do you know whether I’ve had proper training?”

I stared at him with a knowing smirk and lifted brow for a few moments. 

“Alright, you’ve got me. I did study some specific kinds of dance to enhance my abilities as an actor but never any ballet or popular dance type classes. Are you personally an expert dancer?” he asked with a wicked prodding grin.

I scoffed. “No. I mean...no. Definitely not.” 

“Come now, there’s certainly a story there. The lady doth protest too much.”

My eyes went on an exaggerated roll. “You’re a real pain in the ass you know that? Yeah, I used to dance until my teen years when I quit. Now I don’t. Happy?”

“No! Why would you ever quit? Dancing is like vivified joy! There is no possible way to be unhappy when your body is moving in time with a beat. It’s inspiring, connects you with your sacred ancestry from time immemorial! There is a freedom that comes with dance. Whatever emotion you have can be fully expressed using the flow of your body."

"Um, okay." I was surprised by the vehemence of his reaction. "It's kind of a long embarrassing story, so I don't really talk about it. I'm not saying I never dance, just that, for me the joy, as you say, that it once held has been a bit tarnished. Now, for me to go dancing, it would take a bit more than three three ounce pours, you know what I'm saying?" I held up the dregs in my last glass for emphasis.

"But truly, I can't even imagine-"

"Childhood trauma!" I yelled loud enough for people at the bar to turn their heads. I made an apologetic grimace toward the disturbed folks. More quietly, I continued, "You didn't talk about yours. I'm not gonna talk about mine."

He gave me a determined look, eye to eye. "When I was young, in primary school, there was a period of time where I mostly bore witness to, but at times was the recipient of, some bullying. Daily shakedowns and beratements, even occasional light beatings for nearly a year before anyone finally put a stop to it. It made a huge impact on me. I can't stand mean or exclusionary tactics. This set feels very exclusionary to me."

"You little shit." I'd had enough to drink that I hadn't considered the possibility that he'd tell me. I gave a resigned sigh and began, "When I was a freshman in high school, I'd been dancing for about ten years already. I was good, one of the best at our little studio here. I even taught one of the classes of the really young kids by then." I smiled at the memory of my little students in their tutus. "At the end of the season, we always had a recital and I performed a solo. It was good. Looking back, maybe a little risqué for fourteen but not really at all by today's standards. Some of the more popular boys from school had been there, forced to watch their siblings perform. I was a nerdy kid. You couldn't be a nerd and a dancer. Not allowed. For the rest of the year I was called stripper, slut, and worse. I never went back to the studio again after that."

"Oh Elena, that's terrible. No one should ever be made to feel that way, least of all a young woman!"

"It's fine. I mean it's not fine, but I've made my peace with it.”

"I'm sorry. I feel bad making you relive something like that by asking you to share it with me. I'm going to make it up to you. When we leave here, we're going to that club down the street. I'm going to get you dancing again!"

I hated to refuse and and remove that beautiful earnest smile from his face but it had to be done. "Tom, there is not enough wine in this place to get that to happen."

"Actually, I think you're wrong." He waved the waitress over. "We'd like one of the Mega-Samplers, please."

"Sir, those are usually reserved for tables of four or more. I'm not sure I can do that."

"Miss, she really needs a good night out and I am English. I'm certain we can handle it. Also, we aren't driving, so no worries!"

The waitress walked away looking exasperated but brought back a huge platter filled with wine glasses, a good twelve of them; red, white, rosè, even one sparkling.

As we made our way through them, we continued to chat about our lives and preferences, just getting to know each other. 

"So,” he sipped at a Barolo, “I know you love literature. Tell me about your favorite things."

"Ooh, that's hard. I need more to go on. Do you want prose or poetry?"

"Let's say poetry."

"Hmmm. I can't really choose favorites. It's not fair. It's like choosing between children. And I have different favorites for different things. Keats and Frost both have a calming effect when I get riled up. Then Elizabeth Barrett Browning if I'm having trouble sleeping. Neruda if I'm in a," I cleared my throat, "romantic mood..."

“Ah, I’ll keep that in mind.” He arched a brow as he laughed. “So, too many favorites to list then."

“Definitely.” I lifted the champagne flute to my lips, then stared through the bubbly liquid. “I think this was a bad idea.” I was feeling a fair bit past tipsy as I drained that final glass.

“Nonsense. Now you’re ready." 

We settled up with the waitress and strutted confidently down the street. That's how I remember it anyway. Well, Tom strutted confidently. I might have stumbled just a little down the darkened road.

Outside the club he perused the list of upcoming theme nights. "Next weekend they’re having Disco night! We'll have to come back!"

"Oh, Tom, no."

"Oh, yes." He dragged me reluctantly through the doorway into the crowd of flailing bodies. 

We went up to the bar and I insisted on opening the tab since he'd paid for dinner.

"Elena!!!!!" The voice came from behind me but it was a voice I'd recognize anywhere, Rebecca, my ex's sister. We'd hung out a lot back when Brian and I were together but since then very rarely.

"Oh my god! How are you?" I threw my arms around her. "And Jada!" I hugged Rebecca's girlfriend too. "Hey," I tugged on Tom's sleeve and introduced the two girls to him.

"Bex, this is my friend, Tom." Her eyes widened in instant recognition. I stopped her before she could say anything. "Shots all night if you don't make a big deal."

"Shots and we get to hang."

We shook on it and I turned to the bar to order the first round of lemon drops.

"Well, you've sure moved up in the world after my brother." She looked him up and down admiringly and obviously.

"It's not like that." I rolled my eyes but also felt my cheeks flush.

We danced and drank for too many hours to count. I hadn’t had a night like that in several years for sure. I found myself enjoying the company of old friends and new and dancing like a crazy person. Surprisingly, I enjoyed that too. I even managed to tease Tom by mimicking some of his more notable moves, making him laugh. That was the thing I found I enjoyed most. Making this man laugh that distinctive, joyous sound.

One of the clearest things I came away with that night was that Tom, an already chatty guy, became even more so with each subsequent drink. A large portion of the night we danced in a manner that should have been uncomfortably close so he could talk away into my ear. Of course it wasn’t uncomfortable because he was just so...comfortable.

Eventually we ended up back at the bar, grinning, sweaty, and truly drunk. It was refreshing to chat with a guy who had similar passions to my own, but wow, could he go on. He’d been on about Shakespeare again for the last five minutes at least. “So many useful quotes for any situation! Par exemple, ‘Come, come, good wine is a good familiar creature, if it be well used. Exclaim no more against it.’ Not my line of course, when I performed Othello, but I’d love to have a go at Iago one day.”

With absolutely no thought at all, I blurted, "You're really intelligent. And super weird. But also way too attractive. And that's weird. I think I love you. Can I keep you forever? You're my new best friend. Everybody come meet my new best friend! He's from England! Shots! Shots for everyone!"

A chorus of cheers rang out around us.

Tom leaned in to the bartender and I heard him say, "Maybe not everyone. Possibly just the bar area?" He gestured with his hands to the general vicinity where we were standing. 

I downed my shot, grabbed two for Bex and Jada, and headed back out to the dance floor. 

"Darling, wait." A hand on my shoulder halted my progress. "You're getting difficult to keep track of. Let me have your mobile number, just in case."

"Hang on!" I ran the shots out to the two dancing girls then promptly returned to Tom at the edge of the crowd. "Give me your phone." He obliged. I handed him my own and we each added our numbers in.

After I stowed the phone back in my purse, I noticed him grinning down at me. Holy shit, he was good looking. Like, really hot. Like. Really. Hot. I grabbed him by the placket of his button down and pulled him to me. "Take me home."

His eyes widened and his nostrils flared barely perceptibly. "Should I call for a ride?"

I waved the thought away. "Nah. We can walk. It's not that far." I walked back up to the bar and ordered two bottles of beer and closed out the tab. I knew the next day the number on the receipt would bother me a lot more but, for now, it was worth it.

I handed one of the bottles to Tom as we walked out into the mostly deserted street. 

"Is it safe to walk?" he asked.

"Pffffft." I made a drunken scoffing noise. "This is the safest place you'll ever walk. Besides I'm not far. Come on." I grabbed his hand and pulled him down the street several blocks before turning down a side street, then another, eventually deciding it would be faster to cut through some of the neighboring yards. I dropped the empty bottles in a house’s recycling bin and looked to him. "We've got to go through this one. Climb the fence."

“Climb the fence?”

"Yeah! Climb the fence, hurry!"

Even in his inebriated state he looked graceful navigating the chain link. I calmly walked ten feet to the left and went through the gate. I snickered at his surprised face before he joined in and we both tried and failed to laugh quietly. 

"And I'm the little shit?" He picked me up and threw me over his shoulder.

I squealed as I pointed him through the back gate that led to a neighboring yard that happened to be directly across the street from my tiny bungalow. As we emerged from the third gate I pointed across the street. "That's me."

He walked up to the little porch before setting me on my feet. Well, sort of on my feet. The brick of the outside wall helped a bit to keep me upright as I dug around for my keys. Once I pulled them out, I had to squint with one eye closed to try to get it into the keyhole.

"Please. Allow me." He took the key and did eventually push the door open. Definitely faster than I would have. 

I threw my arms around his neck as he dragged me inside. 

And that's the last thing I remember.


	5. Chapter 5

I'd awoken the following morning regretful, with a throbbing head, dry mouth, and no recollection of how I'd made it into my bed.  All signs pointed to my having been placed there by a caring entity.  My shoes had been removed and were set side by side near the bedroom door.  A full glass of water stood on the nightstand alongside my trusty ibuprofen bottle.

After a shower, ingestion of more of the pills than was probably healthy on an empty stomach, and the choice of my prescription sunglasses and a wide brimmed hat for maximum light deflection, I trudged in to work.  I'd remembered the walk home being slightly more fun.  My brain was on overdrive trying to remember the unrememberable. _Shit.  Did I come on to him?  I didn't kiss him, did I?  I'd remember that.  I was still in the same dress when I woke up, so that's a good sign I didn't do anything really stupid.  Right?_

I pushed through the door of Warrick's twenty minutes late.  Mel and Bill were already back at their stations but no one mentioned my tardiness.  Melanie looked like the cat that ate the canary but Bill had the good sense to appear apologetic and immediately started making me a coffee.

When he was finished with it, he ushered me into the little back break room.  "Why are you here?  You look terrible."

"I was scheduled.  Besides, I'm always here."

"You should have stayed in bed.  Have you eaten anything?"

"No.  If I eat, I'll barf."

"You won't."  He handed me the coffee he'd made.  "You need to eat something.  I'll place an order from the diner and go grab it.  Do you prefer bready or greasy for a hangover?"

"Oh god, neither."

"Greasy with a side of bready it is then."  He left the room for a few minutes, presumably to call Riverside Diner for their patented inedible slop.  Okay, so maybe it wasn't really that bad, but as my ex was a cook there, I tended to downplay the decency of the food.

I could hear Mel arguing with Bill in the store, "But I need to hear about everything!!!"  He must have convinced her to leave me alone because she didn't come back and ask questions.

I took a tentative sip of the latte.  Peppermint seemed an odd choice until I remembered he once told me that mint can soothe your stomach.   It stayed where I put it so I took another drink.

I heard a familiar ding emanate from the front pocket of my purse.  I pulled the phone out and looked at the text that had caused the sound.

  * **Sir Thomas Earl of Sexybooty**
  * How’s your morning?  Feeling a bit iffy?



Okay.  Benign enough.  That’s a good sign.  The name though.  What the hell.  I texted back:

  * Managing



Then added:

  * Um, did you type your name in my phone last night?  If so, what did you put?



A few moments later a response came from the aptly named Earl:

  * I did and I put Tom.  Why?  Did you change it?


  * Me:
  * It's nothing.  Just forget I mentioned it 


  * Sir Sexybooty:
  * I’m curious because the name you put in mine is hilarious 



Shit.  I didn’t even want to know.  In fact, I just set the phone to the side and dropped my head into my hands.   Trust Elena “Queen of Awkwardness” Briggs to make an ass of herself in front of an attractive, nice (also famous and completely unattainable, but that’s beside the point) guy.   _I’m an idiot._   

I took another sip of the rapidly cooling latte as the door burst open, the smell of grease and chili wafting in just ahead of a shaggy-haired, stained-apron clad figure.

I groaned.  “Brian, why are you here.  I feel like crap.  I’m not in the mood today.”

“Hey, Bill called this order in.  I brought it over.  It’s just one more service I provide.”  He plopped down into the chair across from me.

“I’d planned to pick it up.”  Bill’s head popped in momentarily to add.

I rolled my eyes at the lot of these morons but directed my speech at Brian specifically.  “What do you want?  Is this because I hung out with Bex last night?  I know she told you.”

“Sort of.”

I popped open the styrofoam clamshell to bathe in the full scent of Slinger.  Hashbrowns, eggs, sausage, and cheese, all smothered in chili.  The only true cure for a hangover.  I looked back up at Brian and held out my hand for the plastic utensils I’d seen poking out of his apron pocket.  “I can hang out with her.  You didn’t get her in the divorce.”

He handed the fork and knife over to me.  “Well, she is my sister, so I kinda did.  But it’s not about that.  She texted me last night.  You know Bex can be gullible.  You shouldn’t mess with her like that, telling her some guy you’re hanging out with is a famous actor.”

I laughed.  So hard and loud, it hurt my head and almost made me hork, not that I’d eaten anything yet to throw back up.  Bex was the most grounded, least likely to take shit person I’d ever met.  Big brother thinking anyone could put one over on her was tragicomic.  “Uh no,” I dug into the steaming mix of artery-clogging goodness, “She recognized him on her own and I would never do anything to fuck with Bex anyway.  I’m afraid of her compact, muscley evil.”  

“Ok fine.  So it’s true, then.  What is he some Shakespeare guy?  That’s the only reason you two would bond over him, right?”  

“Actually, yes.  He is a ‘Shakespeare guy’ but truly I didn’t know who he was when I first met him.  You know me, I’m not into actors and stuff.”

“That’s true.  We probably only watched ten movies together in the whole time we were going out and we were together over three years.”

I couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that spread over my face.  “You know him.  I mean, you’ve seen movies that he’s been in.  You’ve made me watch one.”

He shook his head.  “No.  Now you’re fucking with me.  You said he was a Shakespeare guy."

“He is.  But he’s also a Comic Book Superhero guy.”

“That’s not possible.  Those two things don’t go together.”

“Bullshit.  The guy who directed the first Thor movie was a Shakespeare guy.  That movie is more Shakespeare that Superhero anyway.”

He stared at me for a long moment before the incredulity turned to anger.  “You watched it?  I tried to get you to watch that for two years.  You know this guy for, what, two days and he’s got you watching the full MCU?”

Looking up at him through a cringing squint, I answered, “Yes.  But-”

“No!  No, buts. That’s just wrong, El.”

“I’m sorry.  It was an accident.  I just started watching some of Tom’s catalogue then I had to watch all of it.  Apparently that’s a side effect of, like, knowing anything about this guy.  You fall into a vortex and you have to see everything!”

“So you’re telling me he’s in Thor.”

“Yeah.  He plays Loki.”

“What?  No.  Now I know you’re full of it.  Why would a real actor be here?”

“They’re filming a movie.”  I grabbed my phone and started flipping through the blurry drunken selfies and pics from the night before to find the clearest shot of Tom I could.

“That’s not him,” Brian scoffed, “it doesn’t look anything like him.”  He squinted and leaned in closer.  “Holy shit.  It might be.  No.  No way.”

"Yeah."

"So, you're going to have to introduce me.  I have so many questions."

"No."

"Please?  I'll never ask you for anything again."

"No!  Go!  Go away!  You have a job you've abandoned to come harass me.  Go back there."

He stood and backed toward the door.  "Fine.  But this isn't over."

"It really is."  I went back to filling my gut with the slinger and biscuits that truly were curing my nausea.

My phone had dinged again a few times and I'd ignored it.  After I'd finished eating, I decided I should check out the damage.

  * The Earl:
  * Are you alright?  You didn't respond.
  * Elena?
  * Don't make me worry!


  * Me:
  * Chill!  I'm fine!  I'll talk to you later!  I'm working! 



Well, theoretically I was working.  I decided I should be doing so in practice as well so I went back into the shop proper to trudge through my shift.  As the day progressed, Mel managed to hound the story of the prior evening out of me.

The phone dinged again around three in the afternoon.

  * Sir Thomas:
  * Had a short day today.  When do you get off?  I have something I want to show to you.


  * Me:
  * I think I might have to close tonight. 



I could definitely close if I wanted to.  I certainly didn't have to, but I couldn't bear the thought of doing anything else to mortify myself in front of this man.  So best to just stay away.

"What are you doing?"  Mel swooped by, plucking the phone deftly out of my hands.

"Hey!  Private conversation!"  I grabbed at her to no avail.  She was too slippery.

"Oh my god, Elena!  You do not have to close tonight!"  She began to furiously type across the touchscreen.  "And send."

I grabbed the phone back from her easily now, since she was done with it.  "What did you do?"  I looked at the last outgoing text, mortified.

  * This is Mel.  Ellie gets off in a few minutes.  Meet her at her house in an hour. 



"Jesus, Mellie!  I'm going to kill you!"

"Hey, hey, girls.  No fighting, now!"  Bill's placid tone floated out of the book he had his nose in from behind the counter.  He didn't even bother to look up, knowing coming from either one of us it was all bluster.

Then came a return text:

  * Excellent!  Thank you, Melanie.



"Shit."  I went to the back and gathered my things.  "Okay, Bill, I guess I'm leaving **on time** today because Mel is a bully!"

"Good.  You should leave on time more often.  It'll reduce the amount of overtime I have to pay you."  He still hadn't looked up but I caught the smirk be tried to hide behind his book.

When I got back home, I did my best to shove as much clutter into as many hidey-holes as I could find, then thought another shower would be a good idea.  Five hours of sweating out booze didn't really smell like roses, so I jumped in for a quick rinse off.  U _gh.  Five hours of sweating out booze probably did smell like roses on Tom.  He was such an asshole.  Being all nice, and sweet, and smart, and smelling good, and feeling nice and firm under that button down shirt.  And his lips!  I could watch his lips move all day.  I wonder what they taste like.  Probably like honey sweetened whiskey.  God, then what would the rest of him taste like?  His neck?  His chest?  His..._  I came to my senses with my hands on my breasts, nipples between my fingers.  No!  Inappropriate!  He could show up any second!  Masterbating in the shower is probably not the way I wanted him to find me.  Especially not masterbating in the shower while thinking about him!  "Jesus Christ, Ellie!  Get your shit together!" I yelled at myself as I shut the water off.  

I climbed out of the tub and dried off quickly, towel drying my hair and knowing that it would dry to a dark, springy mess if I didn't put anything in it, but leaving it anyway.  I wasn't trying to impress this guy.  I stood at my closet trying to find the perfect I don't give a fuck about you outfit.  My oversized Shakespeare A to Z Woot Shirt, an old pair of threadbare leggings, and bare feet.  Perfect.  

The knock on the door came as I was leaving the bedroom.

"Hey buddy!"  I said as I opened the door.  He leaned in for a hug and I awkwardly patted the shoulder I'd been thinking about licking twenty minutes before.   _Dammit, Elena!  Don't think about that!_

"Hi!  I hope you don't mind my intrusion."  He made his way into the living room.  "I was a bit confused by the texts before.  Working late, not working late..."

"Oh, yeah," I ran my hands through my damp curls.  "Mel was helping me out.  I just had my schedule all confused."  I sighed and decided to just get my concerns off my chest.  "Did I...I didn't do anything stupid or awful last night did I?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," I groaned, "did I try to kiss you?  Or come on to you?  I didn't, like, grab your junk or anything, did I?"

"No.  None of those things.  Although I might feel a bit offended if your normal drunken behavior is to fondle men and I didn't quite make the cut."

"Oh thank god.  And no!  No!  I don't do things like that!  But I don't remember anything after we opened the door!  So, you know, I really, really don't want to have embarrassed myself."

He smiled at me, "You don't remember anything past that because you were not conscious after we opened the door.  I barely caught you as you went down.  All that happened after that was I laid you in your bed, called a ride and went back to my hotel.  All honorable.  Now I don't know what your intentions had been in bringing me here before your untimely sleepiness.  You may have fully intended to sully my virtue, but only you know that."  He quirked a saucy eyebrow at me.

"Absolutely not!  I think I just wanted to go home.  No, uh, untoward intentions."  Certainly not.  Not at all.  And you weren't even thinking at all a few minutes ago about the possible taste of his... "So what brings you here today?"

"I found a copy of the movie!  I thought we could watch it tonight!"

"What?"

"Heat.  We talked of it for a while last night.  You said you were interested in seeing it and I told you I'd try to track it down."

"Oh, okay!"  Yeah, nope.  No memory at all of that, but sure.  That sounded super benign and friendly.  "Um, I don't have much in the way of snacks or drinks but I can make some microwave popcorn and I probably have a couple of Cokes."

"That sounds great."

I pointed out the DVD player and went into the kitchen to gather some snacks.  I hadn’t eaten at all since the Slinger that morning so I needed something else in my stomach too.  I threw a bag of popcorn into the microwave and pulled the Cokes out of the fridge.  I also grabbed a jar of shelled peanuts and half eaten package of M&Ms that had been hiding in the cupboard, bringing it all out and dropping it on the coffee table.  

We each curled up on an end of the couch, careful to maintain appropriate personal space.  For him presumably because he's a gentleman.  For me because I thought if I touched him, I might accidentally climb onto his lap.

Soon the movie began and we were both drawn in.  We were mostly silent for the better part of two hours, save for Tom's occasional bit of commentary.

"So?" he asked as the credits rolled.

"You're right.  That was very good.  I've just been a closed minded asshole my entire life.  What else have I missed out on?"  I mimed crying into my hands.

He laughed.  "Don't worry.  I'll help you remedy that."

The doorbell rang and I opened the portal on to a grinning Melanie, with a huge case of beer in one hand.  

“No.”  I shook my head as she breezed past me.  “We are not feeding this lovely gentleman Busch beer in camouflage cans!”

“Shut up.  He’ll love it.  It’s a manly Midwestern beer.”  

“It’s not!  It’s watery and tastes like corn!”

“How can it not be manly?  Don’t you see the camo?”  She handed him a can of the swill.   “I’m also keeping my eyes open for a bonfire to take him to.  You’ll love that too, Tom.”

He nodded with an intrigued expression as he popped the top on the can.

"We are not taking him to a bonfire.  And you do not have to drink that!"  But it was too late.  He'd already taken a long drink.

"It's...different."

"If by different, you mean terrible, I agree."

"No, no.  It's definitely...drinkable."

"See!"  Melanie looked triumphant.

"He's just being polite."  I gave her my most menacing stare, which she easily shrugged off.

I grabbed the case and stowed it in the fridge.  When I returned to the living room, Mel was pulling a CD out of her bag.  "I also brought this!"  The last word was drawn out into a multisyllabic sing song.

"No!"  I recognized the CD immediately.  It was a mix with the words "Songs You Could Dance To (If You Really Wanted To)" and I knew it contained all of the songs she had found over our five year friendship that caused me to be unable to keep my feet still.

"Yes!"  She ran over to the ancient stereo in the corner that had been bequeathed to my grandmother by my uncle, lo many years ago when he'd upgraded.  It was a tall stack of equipment, with an equalizer, a turntable, and a CD player that didn't even have the capacity for shuffle play.  It sat unused and dusty, but for when Melanie insisted on it's use.  She began to fiddle with the controls and I kept a death grip on the back of the couch as the beginning strains of a Shakira song boomed through the speakers.  

Tom's eyes lit up.  "I love this song!  If I had guilty pleasures, Hips Don't Lie would be one!  But I don't believe pleasures should ever be guilty."  He may as well have winked at the end of that sentence, the 'wink' in his voice was so strong.

"Oh god."  I turned back into the kitchen and dug one of the awful beers out of the fridge, ignoring the inner monologue that told me not to fucking drink after such a horrific hangover.  Telling that inner monologue to fuck right the fuck off, in fact, as I practically swallowed the can whole and grabbed another.  I walked back in the room, into the dance party of the century, both people appearing to have the time of their lives.  The couch and coffee table had been pushed against the walls so the entirety of the center of the room was available for dancing.

Two arms from disparate bodies dragged me to the center of the room.  "You guys suck," I lamented as I gave in and danced.

After about forty five straight minutes of dancing, the doorbell rang.  

"Shit!  We're too loud!  Neighbors!"  It wasn't that loud but the neighborhood consisted almost solely of octogenarians.

Mel dove to the stereo and shut it down.

"We're so sorry!"  I began apologizing as I threw the door open, but Mr. Faulkner wasn't standing at my stoop.  It was Brian, grinning with another box of Busch.

"Can I come in?  I wanted to apologize for coming to the bookstore this morning."  He was craning his neck, trying to see inside.

"You're apologizing with a box of shit beer?  You haven't gotten any better at this in the last six months then."

"No!  It's just a Busch box.  There are a few Natty Lights in there too.  And some Coors."  Then he gave me a wide mischievous grin.  “Also some Kraftig.”

My eyes lit up.  "Oh, okay.  Yeah.  Come on in.”  But I held him up with a hand on his chest.  “But I know why you're here.  Mel told you, didn't she?  Just don't be a dick, okay?"

"I'm not a dick!  I'm never a dick!"

I rolled my eyes.  He definitely had the capacity for at least slightly dickish.  "Just give me one of the good beers.  No.  Two."

He reached into the box and pulled out the distinctive black and green cans.

I took the beer from him, turning to the people in the room.  "Tom, this is Brian.  Bex from last night?  This is her brother.”

“And your boyfriend!”  Brian sounded offended.

“Ex!”  Mel and I yelled in tandem.

“Fine. Ex.”  He conceded.

“But at least he brought better beer.”  I handed one of the Kraftigs to Tom, who obligatorily popped the top and swallowed a drink.

"Interesting," he held up the can to examine it, "on all accounts.  The two of you are still friendly?"

"No."

"Sometimes?"

Brian and I had answered at the same time, myself in the negative, he in the hopeful.  

I elaborated, "He's just here to check you out.  He's a comic book geek."

Again, Brian seemed hurt.  "I prefer the term aficionado."

"God damn!  Don't be a pretentious fuck!"  

His eyes widened in mock horror.  "If your grandmother could hear you cursing and taking the Lord's name in vain in her house, you'd get the switch."

"She'd threaten with the switch but she'd never do it."  I smiled at her memory as I addressed Tom.  "I moved in here with her when her health started declining about six years ago.  When the heart failure finally got the best of her a couple of years ago, she'd left me the house.  She was the best.  I'm sorry you can't meet her."

"As am I."  He returned my smile but with a proper hint of melancholy.

The next two hours passed, Brian's nerdboy dreams coming true as Tom answered all his ridiculous questions, even seeming to enjoy the discussion, delightful bastard that he was.  Eventually conversation turned to other equally absurd things.

"So if a zombie apocalypse broke out right now, we'd be stuck together.  This would be our crew.  What do we each bring to the table that we can use.  Melanie, go!"  We'd hit the time of night when Brian started asking insane hypothetical questions.

"Oh, that's easy.  My parents have a stockpile of firearms in their basement in case the government becomes an autocracy and we have to rise up against them.  So I know how to use a lot of different types of guns.  I will shoot all those bastard dead with accuracy and grace."

"Tom?"

"I have some concerns regarding Melanie's answer but, uh, I'll let that go for now.  As for me, I can run fairly fast, I do know how to handle a firearm and I'm pretty hale, so, I think I'd be a decent addition to the team."

"Elena?"

This particular game was one of my least favorite.  "Nothing.  I'd be useless in a zombie apocalypse.  I guess you could use me as a distraction.  The zombies can eat me as you all run away."

"Nonsense!"  Of course Tom was the type of guy who wanted you to think positively.

"Fine!  I'm an astute student.  You all can teach me all of your skills and I'll eventually be even better at all of those things than you are, then I can use you as zombie bait as I run away."

"That's the spirit!" 

"Look, guys," I yawned, "I hate to cut this party short but I'm exhausted.  You all are welcome to stay here and finish the beer and play what if the zombies attack, but I'm going to bed."

"Aww!  I was just about to pull out Cards Against Humanity!  But go on, sleepyhead," Mel waved me off towards my bedroom, "I'll keep these guys entertained until they're ready to leave."

Tom stood.  “No.  I’ll have to take a raincheck on that as well.  I’m needing to be heading out.  I have an early call in the morning.”

“I’ll walk you out.”  I opened the door for him and he walked out before turning back and taking both of my hands in his.

“Thank you for another lovely evening.”  

“Oh, yeah, okay, sure,” I laughed.

“I’m serious!  It’s an honor that you’ve let me into your little circle.  A real privilege.”  He let go of my hands and, smiling, turned to go.  

I called after him, “Well, thank you, Tom.  Goodnight.”  And he gave me a little wave as I closed the door.  

Brian followed quickly afterwards.  Once Mel and I were alone, her eyes got big as saucers and her mouth dropped open.  “He held your hand for a really long time.”

“It wasn’t that long.”  I shook my head.

“It was.  It means something.  He’s totally into you.”

“Whatever.  It doesn’t.”  I changed the subject.  “Are you staying tonight?”

“Yeah.  Give me a tee shirt.”  She made grabby hands in my direction.

I set her up in her usual back bedroom, the one that had belonged to my grandmother.  Then I'd climbed into my own bed and tried my damnedest not to think about whether or not he'd held onto my hand for somewhat longer than decorum should allow for.  Because that line of thinking would get me absolutely nowhere.  


	6. Chapter 6

"Is Tom coming over tonight?" Melanie asked, as we gathered up our things from the breakroom at the end of the day.

"No. I have to finish this paper for next Friday. I can't get distracted this weekend." I shoved The Unbearable Lightness of Being into my bag and slung it over my shoulder.

"Is he available, do you know? There's a huge party tonight at Hayfie's farm."

I stared at her for a second before replying, "I told you, you're not taking him to a bonfire."

"He needs to experience it!"

"Oh my god. He doesn't."

"Just text him and ask what he's doing. If you don't, I'll steal your phone again."

I relented and sent a text.

 

  * Me: Are you done for the day?
  * The Earl: Just wrapped. How was your day?
  * Me: Fine. I'm just leaving. Look, Mel wants to know if you want to go to some farm bonfire tonight with her.
  * The Earl: Just her?
  * Me: I'm sure there will be other people, just not me. Paper, remember?
  * The Earl: Ah yes. The infamous paper. Where shall I meet her?
  * Me: Just come to my place. You can set off from there.



 

"He says he'll go. He'll meet you at my house."

She squeed and clapped her hands. "Now I just have to convince you your paper can wait."

"It can't! I've already put it off forever! It's due Friday! I need to get it done!"

"What's more important, Ellie? Some assignment or your future?" She looked down at her phone as she walked and talked beside me, setting up the rest of her posse for the night ahead.

"My education is my future! Come on Mel! You're living in a fantasy world if you think this is one of your cutesy romance novels where a girl meets the perfect man and gets to have a happily ever after! This is reality, where this, admittedly stupidly attractive, too good to be true guy is here for a few weeks and will be gone in less than a month, never to think about us again. I'm not getting involved in your fairytale."

"Nope. You're wrong. This is a thing. I've watched you two together. Just because you refuse to admit it, doesn't make it not true."

I grunted in annoyance as I threw open the front door. Immediately, I sat at the kitchen table which had already been laid out with the books, resources, and laptop I'd need to complete my assignment.

"We'll need to eat before we go," Melanie called from my bedroom as she dug through my closet for appropriate clothes to borrow for her night out. "We should order some pizza."

I sighed and picked up my phone. "How many pre-partiers should I expect to show up here?"

"So far, four plus us. Order cheese bread too!" She emerged from my room in a vintage floral button down sundress. She’d kept the flats and sweater she'd been wearing but ditched her jeans and tank top. She held her arms out to the side and swished around the room.

I gave her a thumbs up before calling in an order for a couple of pizzas from the local chain  
place.

"Now you. Go change."

"I'm not going with you!"

"You have to!" She gave me an exasperated look. "Fine. At least change into something nice to see us off."

"What? No! I'm not changing just to eat pizza and write a paper. I look fine." I looked down at my overstretched but comfortable gray sweater.

Her imperious eyebrow told me that I'd do better to just change and shut up. So I did. And at that point I knew no writing was getting done that night. It just wasn't worth the wrath of Mellie. I still had a whole week, anyway. I could spend every waking moment I wasn't working or in class on it. It's not like my social life demanded that I go out very frequently. And besides, what I'd said earlier was true. Tom would only be in town a few more weeks. What kind of friend was I if I didn't make an attempt to spend time with him while he was here.

I kicked off my old Chucks and stripped out of my jeans and stood at my closet just staring into it. I never worried this much about what I wore. Why was I thinking so hard. It was sure to get cool so the jeans and sweater truthfully would have been the best choice. But here I was considering the black and white maxidress with the chevrons that nearly dragged the floor on my short frame. Okay, that was totally impractical. I would trip on it in the field and kill myself. So the black below the knee high waisted a-line skirt with a loose fitting royal blue crop top it was. I tied on my best mud resistant boots and made my way back out just as the pizza guy rang the bell.

Melanie had cleared the kitchen table while waiting for the food to arrive. Bex, Jada, and Brian had already joined her, a perk of living only a few blocks away. Once the food was placed in front of them, they wasted no time digging in. I ate a slice even though I wasn't the least bit hungry, knowing a full stomach was my ally against the shitty beer that would be served at the party.

When the bell rang again, it could only be the final member of the party. Tom sauntered in, very appropriately dressed in jeans, boots, and a black leather jacket, with a six pack of much better beer than I knew how to find in this town. I tried not not to drool on him as he gave me a perfunctory hug and joined the others in the kitchen.

My guests passed around the six pack, each taking one to drink with the food. The last was handed to me by Mel and any hope of staying in was lost.

"Have you decided to join us?" Tom's eyes were alight with the prospect of impending merriment.

I shot a look at my best friend standing beside me. "She's making me."

"I'm glad," he grinned.

"Yeah, yeah." I tried to stay upset but it was impossible. The thought of a night of fun and the coolness of the leather brushing against my arm as Tom stood next to me (just slightly too close, maybe? Or was I just imagining things?) had me enjoying myself already.

 

Brian parked The Monstrosity at the end of a long line of cars and trucks. The beat-to-hell minivan didn't even look that out of place behind a Honda beater coupe and a gaggle of ancient pick-ups.

We strolled in as a pack to survey the lay of the land. There was a keg placed at either end of the small field nearest the house with a huge roaring bonfire in the center that lit the night in all directions.

"Oh. They're planning for a big one!" Jada announced excitedly.

The mass of humanity was already whooping and dancing around the fire to an old Tim McGraw song that blared from a set of speakers in the bed of a dusty truck.

"Joy," I replied as we moved to the nearer of the two kegs to obtain the obligatory solo cups filled with crappy brew.

"I wonder how many kegs Hayfie bought for tonight." Brian mused.

Bex replied, "This is clearly at least a four tap night," as a very large group of people who I would have definitely carded had I been the bouncer headed for the opposite beverage dispensing apparatus.

"So what do you think?" I elbowed Tom jovially in the side.

He looked around. "This is definitely not something I've done before. What are we supposed to do? Dance?"

"You can do that. Or you can just talk to tons of other people." I pointed toward a longer haired guy just swaying in front of the wall of flames, "Or get high and stare at the fire. Guaranteed as the night wears on you'll accidentally walk up to two people having sex somewhere. So I suppose that's an option for you, if you're into it."

"This," he cleared his throat, "might be a little public for me."

I grinned at his discomfort, and handed him one of the two plastic cups Brian had sent my direction. The two of us walked toward the central area with the fire and the throng of party goers. "How goes the filming?" I took a large gulp from the cup. Drinking it fast was less painful.

"Well! We're nearly finished. Three more weeks til we wrap."

"And then you head home. Are you looking forward to being back there? In your own space, your own bed?"

"I am," he glanced down at me, "but in some ways I'm not."

"Really?" I stepped in closer to him. "In what ways?"

"There are always things I miss at the end of a shoot. But sometimes," he leaned in even closer, "there are things that might be worth staying for."

I was pretty sure I wasn't mistaking his motivations. I lifted slightly up onto my toes when-

"Oh my god!" a disembodied voice screamed into my ear. I was spun to the side and smothered in a huge sloppy hug. "Elena!"

"Holy shit. Vicki Reimer. How are you?" I managed to squeak out through my lack of air.

"Great! I didn't know you were going to be here! I haven't seen you in forever!" She'd clearly started her party many hours before.

"Yeah, well, you do know where to find me. It's good to see you." I tried to step around her but she planted herself in front of Tom.

"This isn't your boyfriend? He's too hot."

"Yeah. Tom, this is Vicki. We knew each other in high school but tonight we're apparently close enough friends for her to decide how hot my boyfriend is allowed to be," I chided as I gulped down the last of the beer. I knew she hadn’t meant it in an offensive way but I was just buzzed enough and annoyed enough to make aggressive jokes at her expense. Or was it my expense. Truth be told, she'd probably just saved me from the embarrassment of my life as I went in for a kiss and he turned his head and cleared his throat.

Tom looked back and forth at us both and broadly declared, “Darling, that’s nonsense. If anything it’s the other way 'round.”

Vicki and I looked at him, then at each other, and busted out in a raucous laughter. "That's sweet," I consoled as his face fell, "but you know it's crazy." And as we moved across the lawn to the keg for refills, I threw one arm around the waist of the tall adonis and the other over the shoulder of my more appropriately heighted old friend.

A few hours of drinking and mingling passed, encompassing lots of embarrassing redneck conversation and, much as I hate to admit it, actual fun. Imagine my horror though, as the drunk folk formed a semblance of a line and attempted a rendition of a well-known line dance as Brooks and Dunn blared through the truck's stereo system. And imagine my extra horror as Tom was immediately interested and decided to join in. And imagine my extra extra horror when I had to admit I knew the dance and show him.

Our pack came together and drifted apart many times, as you do at a large party. I did feel as though it were my duty to keep track of Tom, so he was the only one I never lost sight of. He blended in well, chameleon that he is, but I worried over his comfort in this harvested alfalfa field, so I stayed close. I'd definitely imagined the moment that Vicki interrupted, since he hadn't made any other similar move toward intimacy. I guess it was a good thing she'd shown up and stopped me from trying to plant a kiss on an unwilling subject. I'd begun to feel like a puppy following around a person with a plate of food, waiting for scraps. It was painfully obvious how out of my depth I was when I stood by as he chatted with a gorgeous blonde co-ed who was clearly more than willing to offer herself up for his pleasure for the night. I decided to back off a little and let him enjoy himself however he liked.

Melanie ran up, grabbing my arm and dragging me backwards. "You will not believe what I just heard!" I glanced up long enough to see Tom watching her drag me back towards the keg for more refills. "John Garrison is going to ask-"

Before she could finish, my foot hit a divot in the turf and I felt it twist to an improbable angle before I went down. I let out a loud curse as I situated myself on the ground to assess the damage. Tom was kneeling at my side unfathomably quickly.

Mel held out a hand to pull me to my feet. "Shit. Are you okay?"

"Yeah. I'm fine. I just twisted it." I reached up to grab her and pull myself up but before I was able, I was lifted up by ridiculously strong arms. Fully lifted, romance novel style. "What the hell, Tom! I'm not hurt that badly! Put me down!"

"No. Not until someone has had a look at it." He started toward the front to the house, with it's lighted porch, and set me on the swing with my left foot elevated.

"You're being stupid," I pouted. "I'm fine."

"I'm not..." He scoffed. "I just want to check you out. How is that stupid?"

Melanie eyed us both before announcing that she was going to try and find some ice and running off.

I tried to prevent him from removing my boot, but I failed. He was already untying the laces. I knew it would be swelling. Aggravating the old injury never looked pretty but it always healed quickly. "You don't need to do this. I am fine. Why don't you just go back and chat up Kaitlyn some more!"

"Caitlyn? Who is Caitlyn?" He seemed genuinely confused.

I'd folded my arms across my chest and didn't answer. I hadn't meant to accuse him of anything. It just sort of slipped out.

"Did you mean Brooklynn?"

"Oh my god! That's even worse!" I threw my hands in the air.

"She's a nice girl. What is your problem with her?"

"My problem is that she's a child. You could be her father. And she very clearly wasn't looking for a fatherly relationship with you. And you were obviously into it. It was disgusting."

"It's not! I wasn't!" he stammered.

"Hey! Lainie, you okay? Mel said you fell!" Brian lumbered around the corner of the house and saw the two of us glaring at each other.

I turned to him and spat, "I'm fine. Go away."

He put up his hands to keep me from shooting at him. "Okay!" He backed quickly away, out of sight.

"Will you just give me my shoe, please?" I held my hand out for the boot.

"There's no way this ankle can carry this heavy boot. It's very swollen. I'm very concerned for it. I'd like to take you to have it checked out."

"It's fine! It's an old injury. Sometimes it gives out on me. It isn't a big deal. I'll be fine by tomorrow."

"Well, you can't stay here like this." He pulled out his phone and typed into it for a few moments.

"I found some ice!" Melanie reappeared with a torn open plastic ice bag from a gas station with around a couple dozen cubes inside. "Gipson wasn't willing to part with much."

"It's fine." I grabbed the bag out of her hand and placed it over my ankle.

Tom looked sternly at Mel, "You can go back to the party and continue enjoying yourself. I'll take care of her. I have a car coming round. I'm taking her to hospital."

"No, you're not." Mel's eyes ping ponged between us. I realized she was waiting for me to give my assent. "It's fine. You can go. He's 'taking care of me'."

She nodded and turned went back to the party, but not before giving me an enthusiastic double thumbs up.

As we waited for our ride, he took off his jacket and slung it over my shoulders.

"Oh come on!" I complained. He just lifted an eyebrow, daring me to take it off. But it was warm and smelled nice so I didn't.

We sat in silence until the shining black car pulled up between the pick ups. Then he insisted I  
lean on his shoulder to walk to the car, even though it forced him to lean his tall frame down awkwardly and the only reason I had trouble walking was because he'd stolen my boot. As we settled into the back of the sedan, I'd planned on an equally quiet trip home, but Tom spoke after the car had moved down the road a few miles.

"Why are you so angry at me? What have I done?"

I sighed, realizing I had lost my rationality a few beers before. "I'm not angry at you. I'm angry at myself. I should have just stayed home. Not getting my work done is stressing me out." The statement wasn't patently untrue. I should have stayed home. And I wasn't going to tell him that I'd begun to harbor thoughts of a relationship between us. Because even the fleeting thought of that was ridiculous.

"Seriously, if I've done something, I'd like to know. To prevent it happening again." He wasn't buying the 'it's not you, it's me' tack.

"You haven't done anything, I promise. You're a really nice guy. You couldn't possible have done anything. You're a perfect human being."

"Hardly," he scoffed and I couldn't help but grin up at him as he threw an arm around my shoulder and pulled me into him. "Now you rest. Since you're refusing to go to be checked out by professionals, I'll get you home and tucked into bed instead. Then you can hopefully prove yourself right and be better in the morning."

Not long after, I must have succumbed to exhaustion and alcohol and fallen asleep. Next thing I knew, he was gently prodding me to get me out of the car. He made good on his promise of tucking me in before asking permission to send the car away. "I'd like to stay the night and keep an eye on you. Just in case."

"You do not have to do that," I replied dismissively, "I'm fine."

"Come on, Elena. I'm worried about you!"

"Fine! Stay! Geez!" I grinned in spite of myself. "Go on, kick off those boots and grab my laptop from the kitchen counter." I'd signed up for Netflix to continue my cinematic education and when he returned I pulled it up and told him to pick out the movie. We sat side by side, computer perched on his left thigh and my right as we watched his choice of Almost Famous. Eventually I dozed off and he must have set the computer on the floor. It was nowhere to be found when I woke the following morning with my arm around his waist and my head on his chest.


End file.
